Page 74 of Forged By Sacrifice

“Why? It’s sort of romantic that you tried to take your ten-year-old girlfriend on a drive.”

I groaned, and she leaned up and kissed me on the cheek. My hand snaked out to stop her from moving away when she would have, the laughter from before disappearing as longing welled up inside me.

She pushed gently against my chest, and I let her go.

“Goodnight, Mac-Macauley,” she said quietly.

“See you first thing in the morning for tennis camp, Georgie-Girl.”

She nodded and slipped inside the room, closing the door before I could change my mind, or her mind, about where we were sleeping.

I knew it was a good thing. We weren’t there yet. We weren’t at the part where I could lie down next to her and make her forget what was said about me and just believe what my hands and heart told her.

? ? ?

The next morning, I was at her door at seven because the court was going to be taken up for the Whittaker Family Tournament as of ten. I knocked on her door lightly. I didn’t want either Dani or Bee, whose rooms were just down the hall, to hear.

No answer.

I knocked again.

Still no answer.

I tried the doorknob and found it unlocked. I turned, looking both ways, and then entered. I certainly didn’t mind being in a bedroom with Georgie, but I knew what I’d promised her about this weekend. And I knew just how much my family would never let either of us hear the end of it if someone saw us coming from each other’s rooms.

The plantation shutters on the windows cut off almost every lick of light, even though the sun was already up, making it hard to see into the depths of the bedroom. I moved closer and caught my breath.

Georgie was curled on her side, one arm around a pillow, shoulder bare, hair flung out behind her on the white pillowcase, eyes closed. The bedding had slipped off, and her long legs were also bare. From the angle I was at, with the pillow hugged to her middle, she looked like she wasn’t wearing anything.

My entire body reacted to that, my tennis shorts not hiding any of it.

I ached to climb in with her. To tuck that long-limbed body up against mine. And that did nothing for the hard-on I had. I tried to think of anything but the gorgeous creature lying in the bed.

I looked at the ceiling and the cupids that were making their way across it. Thought of Mom having them painted when I was a teen and how I had remarked that the ceiling didn’t match the room. Thoughts of Mom helped. I slowly drew a breath and said quietly, “Georgie.”

She screamed, throwing the pillow at me, hitting me in the face because I was too surprised to catch it.

“What the hell?” she said when she realized it was me.

And I was right back to having to think about the ceiling and the cupids, because she was wearing clothes, but not much. She had on a silk camisole with the strap sliding off her shoulder and the neckline hanging low enough that I could almost see the full curve of her breast and dark nipples. Below the top was a pair of silk pajama shorts that barely fit the curves of her. She was goddamn breathtaking.

“Tennis,” I croaked out.

“Now?” She hadn’t moved, but her breathing was fast, making the neckline dip farther.

“I told you early,” I said with eyes back at the ceiling.

“Early isn’t before the crack of dawn.”

I went to the shutters and pulled them open a little so the sunlight started to peek in.

“It’s seven,” I told her.

“We barely went to bed at one.”

I came back to the bed, which was a mistake because she was still showing me all her contours, and I was still having a hard time controlling my dick’s reaction to it. I went to the door.

“You’re acting weird,” she said.

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